Desiree sat on the edge of the bed,her fingers tangled in the blanket as Roman paced the room. He had been pacing since they returned inside,restless, angry, wounded. She watched him silently for a moment, then took a slow breath.

“Roman… about the locket,” she began softly.

He stopped, shoulders stiffening.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continued, “it might mean anything. You’re acting like it’s the end of the world, but… what if it’s yours? What if it just fell somewhere ...